


A Blade in the Soul

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-24
Updated: 2008-01-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A desperate act leaves Harry and Neville equally shaken and in need of comfort.





	A Blade in the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for Lyricalnights for Smutmas 2007. Harry/Neville.

**A Blade in the Soul**

“Hermione and I decided on a name for the baby. Rose Elaine,” Ron told Harry, peering at him over the rim of the pint in his hand. Leaning forward, he added in a conspiratorial tone, “Don’t tell her, but I said yes only because I knew she’d never agree to Rosmerta.”

Chuckling, Harry drained his own pint. “I still can’t believe you fancy her after so long. Rose Elaine is a pretty name, by the way.”

“You never forget your first crush,” Ron said, grinning unrepentantly. “Don’t tell me you never think of Cho on occasion. Who knew back then that you’d end up with another bloke? And thanks. I do like the name a lot.”

“Not me. And yeah, I still think of Cho every once in a while.” Harry returned the grin before slapping a few coins onto the table and reaching for his cloak. “Speaking of other blokes, I ought to head home. Nev worries if I’m late.”

Ron’s long nose wrinkled. “I ought to be on my way as well, for the same reason. I’ll bet you Hermione complains about being late a lot more than Neville does, though.”

Harry held up his hand, thumb and forefinger held approximately an inch apart. “No bet, but he does give me a look that makes me feel about that tall. It’s our curse for settling down with partners who have mournful brown eyes.”

“You got that right.” Ron fished out coins for his own drink and clapped Harry’s shoulder. “Tell Neville that Hermione and I said hello.”

“Will do.” Giving Ron a farewell wave, Harry left the Leaky Cauldron, heading out into Diagon Alley before Apparating home.

The house was still dark when Harry arrived, a highly unusual occurrence, since Neville almost always came home from work first. Forehead creasing, he let himself inside, turning on the lamps and hanging up his cloak. Walking into the kitchen, he didn’t find a note on the breakfast table.

He made a sandwich, telling himself there was no reason for worry. Neville typically arrived home before Harry, but that wasn’t always the case. He worked late sometimes, and no one was exempt from the occasional flurry of last-minute tasks that simply couldn’t wait until the following day. Besides, he really wasn’t _that_ late. He’d come home sooner or later, apologise for being kept away, and that would be it.

He brewed a pot of coffee for himself and a second pot, this one of tea, for Neville when he came home, settling down to eat his sandwich and go over his notes from that day’s classes. He’d known when accepted into Auror training that there wouldn’t be practicals right away, but the amount of homework reached the realms of the ridiculous sometimes. There were days when he could have sworn it was like studying for his OWLs all over again.

He glanced up upon hearing the _whoosh_ of flame from the fireplace in the front room, followed by the sound of Arthur Weasley’s voice. “Harry? Where are you?”

“Coming!” Grabbing his coffee cup, Harry left the kitchen and knelt in front of the fireplace where Arthur’s head protruded, limned in greenish fire. “What’s going on? Is Mrs Weasley all right? Are Ginny or Hermione in labour?” Ginny and Dean’s first child was due around the same time as Ron and Hermione’s.

“I wish the news was as happy as that. Harry, there’s been an incident involving Neville.” Mr Weasley looked up at him from the grate, his expression solemn and worried.

Harry rocked back on his heels, his spine suddenly turned to ice. “Incident? What kind of incident? Is Neville all right? Where is he?”

“He’s currently at St Mungo’s. Unhurt,” Arthur added hastily when Harry made a small sound. “He was apparently attacked on his way home this evening. He’s unhurt, but he’s badly shaken. Harry, he was attacked by Rodolphus Lestrange. There will be an inquiry, of course; but it appears what happened was purely out of self-defence…”

“Inquiry?” Harry’s voice skirled upward. “Mr Weasley, _what_ happened in self-defence?”

Arthur’s hand appeared in the flames, scrubbing across his face. “My apologies; I should have explained myself better. Apparently, Neville killed Mr Lestrange during the course of the struggle. He says he managed to get his wand and cast _Sectumsempra_ , intending only to hit Lestrange’s wand hand. He missed and slashed open the other man’s throat instead.”

“Are you at St Mungo’s now?” Harry asked, setting his coffee aside and standing. When Mr Weasley nodded he said, “Step aside. I’m coming through.”

Harry barely waited long enough for Arthur’s head to retreat from the grate before he’d tossed in Floo powder and announced his destination. One brief whirling dervish of a ride later, he was at St Mungo’s and Mr Weasley was helping him onto his feet, brushing soot from his robe.

“This way,” Mr Weasley said, before Harry could ask. He followed the older man down the corridor to a room with a closed door. Arthur peeked in the window and stood back. “The Aurors are still talking to him. You can go in when they’re – oh, it looks like they’re leaving now.”

The door opened and two people in Auror’s robes stepped out into the corridor, followed by a mediwitch. The Aurors glanced at Harry as they came out, still conferring. Harry caught the words _accidental_ and _oughtn’t be charged_ before he slipped past the mediwitch and into the room, gaze going to the lone figure sitting on the edge of the examination table. He bit back a gasp at the sight. Arthur’s story had suggested a lot of blood and a horrific tale, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sheer amount. Neville’s clothes were nearly black with it, his hair matted, his curiously blank face spattered with a fine stippling of drops and the aimlessly twisting hands in his lap stained brownish-red.

“Neville?” Harry walked toward the table. “It’s me. I’ve come to take you home.”

Slowly, Neville raised his eyes from his hands. His eyes were like burned holes in his pale face. “Heya, Harry,” he replied, his voice utterly lacking inflection.

“We gave him a Calming Draught,” the mediwitch said from behind Harry, re-entering the room, “so he’ll probably be a bit out of it for the next couple of hours. I have a prescription here for a sleeping potion you can give him once he’s at home. He’s unhurt, but a traumatic event like this rarely passes without leaving a mark of some sort. If he wants to talk about what happened, let him, but don’t force the issue until he’s ready…”

“Can I take him home now?” Harry interrupted. Neville’s gaze had returned to his lap, to his still-twisting fingers.

The mediwitch glanced over Harry’s shoulder to Neville and nodded, handing Harry the bottle of sleeping potion. “He should be all right once the initial shock wears off, but keep an eye on him anyway. He might need a therapist, someone to talk to…”

“He’s got me to talk to,” Harry interrupted again, resting one hand on Neville’s shoulder. “C’mon, Nev.” Neville slid off the table, weaving a moment before finding his balance, and let Harry wordlessly lead him away.

After promising Mr Weasley to keep him updated, he and Neville Flooed home, ushering him upstairs to the bathroom. Neville followed, still moving in slow motion, his eyes and face still blank, unresponsive. Steering him inside, Harry began unfastening Neville’s robes and the shirt beneath, both stiff and tacky with drying blood. Peeling them back, he pushed them down Neville’s arms and off before doing the same with his trousers, also liberally stained and smeared. Even his socks and shoes were bloodstained, and Harry made a mental note to have everything burned once Neville was asleep. No cleaning spell would get them all out; best there be no lasting reminder at all. He didn’t think Neville would protest.

Neville was pliant and unresisting as Harry undressed him, lifting one foot and then the other when asked so Harry could remove his shoes and socks, one hand resting instinctively on his shoulder to maintain his balance. Once Neville was naked Harry stripped down as well. Picking up his wand from where he’d laid it next to the sink, he turned on the shower and manoeuvred them both inside, positioning Neville so that he stood directly beneath the spray of hot water, wetting his hair. The water swirling down the drain turned pinkish-brown almost instantly, and Harry reached for the shampoo.

“Close your eyes, Nev,” he murmured, squeezing some shampoo into his palm and reaching up to lather it into Neville’s hair, the foam also turning the same horrid shade of brown-tinged pink.

It took two thorough shampooings before the pinkish taint disappeared completely from Neville’s hair. Once his hair was clean Harry wet a flannel, lathering it with a cake of the herbal-scented soap Neville favoured. The shower filled with steam as Harry soaped him carefully and thoroughly, keeping his touch comforting and warm, familiar and safe. Taking his time, he smoothed his hands over Neville’s body, running the flannel over his shoulders and chest, and down both arms, moving around him to soap his back and buttocks, keeping the touch gentle and non-threatening. The attack hadn’t been sexual in nature, true, but that didn’t mean Neville hadn’t been violated any less. Kneeling, he ran his hands down Neville’s legs all the way to the ankles and back again until he’d returned to where he’d begun.

Rinsing him thoroughly until the water ran clear, Harry shut off the shower tap. He towelled Neville dry with their fluffiest towels, wrapping one around Neville’s hips and doing the same for himself before bringing him back into the bedroom, where he rummaged through the wardrobe for Neville’s favourite pair of pyjama trousers and handing them to him.

“There’s tea downstairs,” Harry said while he and Neville dressed. “D’you want me to bring you a cuppa, or would you rather take your sleeping potion now?”

Neville sat down at the edge of the bed, head down. “Potion,” he finally whispered, the first time he’d spoken since Harry brought him home. “Is it Dreamless?”

“I think so, yes.” Harry grabbed his discarded robe from the bathroom floor, searching through the pockets until he found the phial and examined the label. “Yeah, it’s for dreamless sleep.”

“Good.” Taking the phial from Harry’s hand, he uncapped it, drinking the contents in one long swallow before lying back on the bed, pulling the blanket over himself and curling up beneath. “Harry?”

“Yes?” Harry lay down beside him, propping his chin in one hand.

“Stay with me?” Neville’s voice was already drowsy as the potion took effect.

“When have I not since we moved in together?” Harry brushed a still-damp tendril of brown hair from Neville’s forehead, watching as his lips curved into the tiniest of smiles before he fell asleep.

Harry continued stroking Neville’s hair back from his face, studying his features while he slept. He didn’t look like a killer. Harry knew for a fact that Neville wasn’t a killer at heart, never had been. Today must have shaken him to the core, rocked him to the foundation of his being. He hadn’t killed anything human during the Battle of Hogwarts several years ago, preferring to use spells that wounded or temporarily incapacitated to more lethal options. The only possible exception to Neville’s principles might have been Bellatrix Lestrange, but Molly Weasley had taken care of her before that could be tested. He’d attended Rabastan Lestrange’s trial and had been satisfied with seeing the man returned once again to Azkaban.

Rodolphus had been in hiding since the day his Dark Lord had died. Neville had never once mentioned looking for the man on his own, never mentioned trying to get revenge for his parents. Harry wondered if Rodolphus had known exactly who it was he’d tried to attack and rob earlier tonight. He’d probably never know, and he wouldn’t ask unless Neville told him.

He didn’t believe Neville had killed the man intentionally. Neville was the most honest person he’d ever met. If Neville said it had been an accident, then it was true. He hoped the inquiry came to the same conclusion the Aurors at the scene had arrived at – that the death had occurred in self-defence. They surely wouldn’t send him to Azkaban for that, would they?

Carefully, not to disturb Neville’s rest, he brushed a kiss across the other man’s forehead and slipped quietly out of bed and from the room. He had some reading to do before Neville woke up.

Several hours later, he returned to the bedroom, feeling much better about the situation after poring over several casebooks detailing the outcomes of several cases similar to Neville’s. Nearly all of them had ended in favour of the defendant, and in those that hadn’t, the person had lied about the self-defence aspect.

Taking off his glasses, Harry set them on the bedside table and slid into bed beside Neville, pressing chest to back, one arm dropping over Neville’s waist. Neville made a sleepy murmur, shifting to accommodate him without waking. Harry buried his face against Neville’s shoulder and closed his eyes, relaxing against his solid warmth with a small sigh.

He was awakened a short time later, jostled by Neville’s restless movements and a low whimper of distress. Harry shook his shoulder, gently at first, then harder until Neville shivered and awoke. Rolling over, Harry peered down at Neville, at the dim sheen of his eyes. “Bad dream?”

Neville nodded, jerkily, still shivering. “There was so much blood, Harry. It was everywhere, and I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t and now he’s dead and it’s my fault and I’ll probably end up in Azkaban…”

“Hush. You’re not going anywhere near that place.” Neville blinked up at him, uncertain. Harry added a nod for emphasis, and before Neville could say anything else he cupped his cheek and kissed him.

Neville made a small noise in his throat, but his mouth parted beneath Harry’s without protest. Lifting a hand, he twined his fingers through the hair at Harry’s nape, holding him in place. Smiling against his lips, Harry deepened the kiss, tongue stroking along Neville’s with a slow, dreamy languor. Shifting, he moved until he was draped over Neville’s body, breaking the kiss and nipping at his lower lip. Propping himself on his elbows, he licked his lips, tasting Neville there, and looked down into his eyes.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Neville asked, the words barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Harry assured him, thumb brushing over one of the scars along Neville’s cheek. “I overheard the Aurors say it was self-defence. They believe your story, and if you say it’s self-defence, then that’s good enough for me, too.”

“No, you should know.” Raising his head, Neville kissed Harry’s chin before falling back once more against the pillows. “If there’s going to be an inquiry, you shouldn’t be hit with any surprises. You should know what happened.”

“All right,” Harry said after a moment. “Tell me what happened.”

Neville closed his eyes, a small crease appearing between his brows. “I was walking home from the Apparition point. He must have been lurking in that stand of trees at the end of the lane, waiting for someone to come by. He was awfully thin, Harry. I think he only attacked me for the Galleons in my pocket. I don’t even know if he knew it was me, at least not at first. He hit me with a Binding spell and then a Silencing spell before he left the trees. He went through my pockets, took everything of value, and then he recognised me. The look on his face at that moment…” Neville shivered again, throat working as he swallowed.

Harry swallowed hard as well, realising just what a close thing it had been, that Neville had survived at all.

“He cast Cruciatus on me. Said he wanted me to suffer a bit before he killed me for my part in destroying Voldemort. It went on long enough for the Silencing spell to wear off a bit and I could fight the Binding spell enough for me to reach my wand. He saw and started to cast the Killing Curse, but I hit him with _Sectumsempra_ first. I tried to aim for his wand hand. I wasn’t above taking off his hand with the spell, but the muscles in my arm were still twitching from being Cruciated, and I opened his throat instead.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly. “Oh, Nev.”

“There was…so much blood,” Neville whispered. “He dropped his wand, holding both hands to his throat, and it kept spraying through his fingers, and I tried to stop it too, and the blood kept coming and coming, and I still couldn’t call out loudly enough for help, and he died right in front of me, and the blood was everywhere…” He made a sound that was almost, but not quite a sob. “I didn’t mean to kill him, Harry. If he hadn’t of Cruciated me he probably only would have lost his hand instead of his life.”

“Sounds like poetic justice to me,” Harry said, still stroking Neville’s cheek, the story sinking into him like a blade to the soul. Neville was the gentlest of men, with the heart of a lion, and it hurt to see Neville suffering like this now, wracked with guilt. Even in death, the Lestranges still had managed to injure him, another emotional scar to add to all the others. “You did the Wizarding world a favour, even if it was an accident. No one will blame you for what happened. Dammit, Nev, I almost _lost_ you!” He ran his fingers through Neville’s fringe, pushing it back from his forehead, staring down at him. “You are…the bravest and most wonderful person I know.”

He could see Neville’s disbelief at that statement, even in the darkness of the room, so Harry tried to prove it the only way he knew how. Lowering his head, he kissed him along his jawline and neck, hands moving to clutch at his arse through the thin material of his pyjama trousers, hearing Neville moan softly in response, the sound becoming a gasp when Harry nipped at his throat.

Sitting up and straddling Neville’s hips, Harry pulled his shirt up and over his head. Tossing it aside, he reached for Neville’s pyjamas, fumbling at the drawstring. It took a few moments of shifting, but by the time every stitch of clothing was gone they were both hard and eager. Harry pressed himself against Neville, shivering as warm skin touched skin, Neville’s legs wrapping around Harry’s thighs. He arched up, grinding their cocks together, the exquisite friction wringing a moan from both.

Harry ran his hands along Neville’s chest and belly, shifting over him, eyes slipping shut in sheer pleasure as his erection slid along Neville’s. Bending, he licked along Neville’s collarbone, one hand finding and rolling a nipple between his fingers. His tongue swirled once more at the dip in Neville’s collarbone before travelling further down, licking, kissing and nibbling a path from collarbone to nipple, pausing to graze the taut bud with his teeth, feeling it contract beneath his tongue. He traced a path to the other nipple, drawing it into his mouth, laving it with his tongue until it was equally tight and erect as its twin, drinking in the sound of Neville’s moans. Harry moaned as well as he continued sliding down the length of Neville’s body, the head of his cock nudging a thigh as he kissed a wet trail down Neville’s stomach from nipple to navel, teasing him with nips and nibbles and caresses, listening to Neville’s moans become needy, panting breaths.

A small detour brought him to the crease of Neville’s thigh, biting and sucking, leaving red marks behind as Neville squirmed beneath him. He cried out, hips lifting, as Harry finally slid his lips around Neville’s rigid length, tongue dipping into the leaking slit. His hands went to Neville’s hips, pinning him, savouring every second as each flickering stroke of his tongue and the suction of his mouth elicited fresh moans and whimpers from Neville’s throat.

He pulled off just long enough to murmur, “Lube,” taking the tube Neville passed to him, flipping the cap and squeezing out some of the slick gel before swallowing him down once more, humming contentedly at Neville’s keening wail and the sudden upward surge of his hips.

Pushing Neville’s thighs apart, he slid one slickened finger along his cleft, finding and circling his entrance, teasing it until it loosened. Drawing hard at his cock, Harry pressed two fingers into him, thrusting in and out at the same slow, leisurely pace as the mouth wrapped around Neville’s cock, twisting them until he found the bundle of nerves of his prostate, stroking over it again and again. Neville writhed beneath him, hands clutching the bedclothes, his cries changing to a wild, desperate pitch.

“You. Inside. Now,” Neville demanded breathlessly. “Harry…”

His urgency was contagious; Harry couldn’t help but respond to the need he heard there. Releasing Neville’s cock, he sat back and reached again for the lube, slicking his own straining erection one-handed while the other remained thrusting and stroking in and out of Neville’s tight arse. Settling between his thighs, he nudged them apart more widely, slipping his fingers from Neville’s body and replacing it with his cock, gritting his teeth as he slowly pressed his way inside, groaning as he clenched around him, hot and tight and so fucking good it took Harry’s breath away.

Holding himself still until he’d regained a small modicum of self-control, Harry withdrew almost completely, then pushed back inside as slowly as before. Again, and yet again, setting a measured pace that nearly drove him mad with the intensity of the friction and heat surrounding him. He wanted nothing more than to move faster, harder, taking Neville, making him _his_ , keeping him safe and protected and loved.

“Touch me,” Neville begged, hips undulating. “Harry, touch me, please…” He hissed as Harry wrapped his fingers around him one by one and began stroking in time with his thrusts. Neville’s eyes squeezed shut, breath hitching and stuttering as Harry pulled him toward climax. A slight twist of Harry’s hand and Neville tensed beneath him. His cock jerked, pulsing against his palm as he came, warm and slick over his fingers, streaking his abdomen in pale strings, clenching and convulsing around Harry’s length buried inside him. Opening his eyes, Neville murmured, “Let go, Harry. Let go and fuck me.”

Harry groaned at the order, lifting Neville’s legs and hooking them over his shoulders. Bracing himself above Neville’s body, Harry caught his dark gaze, eyes nearly black and feverish with need and thrust into him, hard. He stroked in and out a few times, finding just the right angle, and began pounding into his tight, welcoming channel, harder and faster, driven by the slap of flesh against flesh and the pleasure contorting Neville’s face.

It didn’t take long before Harry felt every muscle tense, and then he was coming, coming hard, his groans raw and guttural, hands gripping Neville’s hips hard enough to leave marks as he jerked and shuddered through his orgasm. For a moment he thought he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Fuck,” Harry gasped. “Oh, fuck, Neville.”

He collapsed onto Neville’s chest, still gasping, too drained to move, feeling Neville’s fingers comb through his hair, the touch tender, loving, just like Neville. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel until he found the energy to shift around so that his entire weight wasn’t pressing Neville into the mattress, his head still against Neville’s chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said softly, feeling Neville’s fingers still momentarily before continuing to move through his hair. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you. You can’t leave me, too.”

“I won’t.” Neville’s voice was equally soft and quiet. “Where else would I go?”

Where else, indeed? Harry smiled and closed his eyes, arms tightening around Neville. Where else, indeed.


End file.
